


We've Got it Right

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 22:37:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4683905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m not going to die,” Porthos reassures him but there’s the smallest note of <i>right?</i> to his words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We've Got it Right

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this sitting on my harddrive for about... five months? And I literally cannot remember what I was going to do with it. It has all these blank spaces where I was going to write more but I stupidly did not take any notes or outlines on what I wanted for the story. So it's just been wasting away.
> 
> So now it's just a drabble.

There’s rain drumming against their backs and Porthos tries to hold Aramis’ coat up high enough to block them both as he struggles over some stitching at his arm. Porthos keeps flinching, though, and the stitching is rattled and loose and not nearly as careful as Aramis likes. But the rain is cold and blind in his eyes and he’s shaking from the chill and the worry. 

“Aramis,” Porthos says through gritting teeth, shivering too. His flesh is goosing under his fingertips and Aramis briefly worries he is slipping into shock. The wound is not that bad, not enough to kill him, but there is always risk of infection, always risk of losing the blood.

“Hold still,” Aramis begs. “Please, just – I need you to keep still.”

Porthos is so violent in these moments, can handle swordfights and bar brawls in the moment without flinching, without crying out – and yet in quiet moments like this, when it is just him and Aramis, it is enough to let Porthos show it all, to not risk strength or hiding. He curses, he thunders in like a storm. Aramis holds him steady, holds him down. 

“It’s alright,” Porthos says, his voice strained. “We’re not too far away from camp. You can fix it up once we get there.” 

“I know,” Aramis says, jaw clenched.

“I’m not going to die,” Porthos reassures him but there’s the smallest note of _right?_ to his words. 

Aramis looks up sharply. “If we have to die, we die _together_ – the four of us, on some battlefield together. Do you understand?”

Porthos blinks at him, water dripping into his eyes, his arm shaking where it’s holding up Aramis’ coat. Aramis shivers, too, rainwater dripping down his exposed forearms from where he’s rolled up his shirtsleeves. 

“We’ll die together,” Aramis insists. “That’s the only way, do you understand? And since d’Artagnan has Constance, we can’t let him die – and since you, someday, will have a wife and twenty children, I can’t let that happen, either.”

There is a rattling to his words. He can’t hold it back. Porthos stares at him.

Aramis swallows down, ties off his stitching. It is sloppy and ugly, the scar will be crooked if he can’t get to it sooner – and he’ll love it all the same, just as he loves all of Porthos’ scars, because they are testaments that he’s still living. That he helped in keeping him alive.

“So in the end, none of us are allowed to die.”

Porthos gives him a pained look, reaches out, touches his cheek. 

Aramis knows there’s a lot he can say in that moment, a lot he isn’t saying. Instead, all he says, quiet and full, “Alright, Aramis.”

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr](http://stardropdream.tumblr.com/), as always.


End file.
